April 11, 2019 Happy Birthday Commander Shepard
by Spacer Paste
Summary: Hello and thank you for stopping by to read my eighth submission to my annual Commander Shepard Birthday story anthology. I hope you'll take the time to read my other birthday stories. Btw, trigger warnings. This is mostly about non-con and the terrors of vulnerability and isolation. About creepy as I could make it because turning forty-five is creepy.


TITLE: Happy Birthday Commander Shepard 2019

CHAPTER: Birthday Surprises...but not the good kind

Crossover Mass Effect/Fallout 4, with a healthy dash of Dragon Age Inquisition

* * *

The last thing he remembered was an incomprehensible swirl of colors, a smart-mouthed little kid-the same damn one he'd been chasing through his dreams, and the fact that it was his birthday.

But he hadn't merely died. Been there done that, instead he'd watched his hands and feet break down into what he imagined were molecules...no, he couldn't have seen that with just his eyes. The colors meant nothing to him. Seemed like a stupid thing to die for anyway. The little kid, if he could have wrapped his fingers around the brat's neck... also meant nothing. But damn, he was forty-five years old today. Forty-five? And why was he thinking about it now?

Before he could start calculating how much time had gone by since the last time he'd thought about his age or all the other things that meant something to him, he felt his body take a breath. Now that was strange. Hadn't he been breathing all along? Well, of course, he'd been breathing. If you aren't breathing, you're not alive. Right?

Oh, that's right he had died. But not before watching Garrus and Tali cut to pieces by the red laser...and Steve's shuttle...their shuttle...crashing into the rubble that was London. A fireball of death. The death of a good man. 'I'm your shuttle pilot, Shepard.' His chest heaved. That's what had been missing. The weight of grief and failure settled on his shoulders like another layer of armor. Yes, that felt familiar.

He searched his memories for more. Hadn't there been children? Tali. His beautiful, girl. Tali in labor. Tali blaming him for all the pain...called him a bosh'tet. Garrus' eyes filling with tears when they asked him to be their son's guardian. The sight of his turian friend cuddling the infant against his chest. Jo'Hanna...that was her name. His daughter. Children had never been part of the equation because children starved, they died in the middle of a winter's night forgotten. He'd made it out, left behind the cardboard-blanket and hollow eyes of his childhood. He knew he was lucky. He was smart and quick and took full advantage of what the Alliance Navy had to offer. For the first time in his life, he could eat his fill. Hot food put on his plate by an ill-tempered mess cook instead of smelly and often unrecognizable things stolen or most often fought for discovered at the bottom of a garbage can. They fixed his teeth, gave warm clothes and a real bed. Best of all, they taught him amazing things like math and physics and what it meant to be an officer in the Alliance Navy.

Then the most unexpected thing happened when he met Garrus. A turian, brilliant, a little shy, a fierce fighter and one hell of a sniper. A hundred conversations built a friendship previously unknown to Shepard. Moving in concert across a broken battlefield, taking turns firing and knowing, always that Garrus had his back. And Tali. His Tali. It never occurred to Shepard that he probably couldn't fall in love with a woman whose face he'd never seen. Graceful, courageous, and sassy that was Tali. When he said the words, _I don't blame you for being nervous_; his mind was saying _you should be nervous, little girl because all I can think of is getting you out of that suit, lifting you onto that console and burying myself in you._ But that was the Shepard-from-the-streets talking, and he'd come along way since then, so he'd taken her hands and reassured her that he understood and that he would be patient. Whatever it took.

Garrus and Tali. His best friend and the love of his life. The night their eyes met over the sleeping form of his exhausted wife. While Tali slept, they'd taken turns holding the baby girl. By the time Tali woke, they'd each fed her and changed he arguing over who did it best and understood just how much she needed to eat. Garrus was convinced they had precisely the same color eyes. When Tali woke, and Shepard watched his Tali bloom as right before his eyes she became a mother. The hands that wielded a shotgun and hacked computers folded gently around their daughter. If his heart could hold more love, he didn't know how. Something good had come out of the years of fighting. Something worthwhile. Something to hold on to.

Dammit. His mind raced at the frustrated efforts of piecing together the memories. Maybe they weren't his memories after all. If they weren't his then whose? Shepard forced himself to stillness. Was he injured? No. There was nothing. No smells. No sounds. Just a void and he hated voids because they were usually something he couldn't control. He liked being in control.

Terror crept in behind the frustration, sending tendrils of icy sweat over his flesh.

Inhaling deeply he forced his lungs to take in the air and gradually his senses returned. About damn time, he thought. Squinting against the lights, he noticed white walls towering above his naked body and the hum of machinery. He found his fingers and toes moving them and forcing his fingers into a fist. Arms and legs spread wide, he struggled against the straps. The hushed voices of men and women speaking over him in solemn tones. Good. Now he could ask about his ship and crew. If he'd been injured, then Tali and Garrus wouldn't be too far away.

Feelings of vulnerability spawned by a cold table under his bare back and impatient hands moving over his skin poking and prodding.

Get your hands off me...

"Get your fucking hands off me," Shepard-from-the-streets shouted into the cold, sterile air, the words ripped from his throat.

A woman's voice. "Sedation, doctor?"

Then a man's voice agreeing with her. "Perhaps that would be best. There's nothing we can say that will calm him down now. It would be only natural for him to think of us as the enemy."

"No." A new voice spoke into the charged air. This one thready like an old man, but filled with authority. "He's had enough."

"But, Father? His heart rate and blood pressure are dangerously high."

A hand on his bare shoulder and a face came into focus. "SR1-N7?" A silver-haired man with a trim beard and tired eyes smiled down at him. "Forgive me. Commander Shepard will you focus on me for a moment? That's better."

"Where's my ship? My crew?"

The hand on his shoulder moved over his chest. "You've fought long and hard, Commander. It's time you put those burdens down. Let us take care of you."

"Get your fucking hands off of me," Shepard repeated with more of his usual command tone.

"No need for vulgarity, John. It's not as if we're strangers, after all." Commander Shepard's body stiffened when the hand moved down his chest and over his abs. "How beautiful you are. Even more beautiful than my mage."

"Father allow us to finish our work. Please. This isn't safe."

Shepard gritted his teeth over the roaming hand and forced himself to calm down. Fighting wasn't working. Time for Plan B. "Father? I've been ill. Where is Tali?"

The old man's hands drew a blanket over him, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. "You remember, John. The battle? The lasers? She died, along with Garrus. Very sad...always a tragedy to lose young lives. So much potential wasted."

"That's not right! I lived. They lived! Tali and I, we...had...What is going on?" Panic flooded his system, wrists, and ankles pulling against the restraints sent his muscles into spasms. His heartbeat skyrocketed. "Where is Garrus?"

"Father. I must insist. This is cruel. Allow us to wipe his memories. Then...you may do as you wish."

"No." The hand swept over Shepard's shoulder, down his arm and wrapped his fingers around Shepard's clenched hand. The tired eyes crinkled at the corners. "I don't think so. They're so lovely like this. You can see it all in their eyes. Emotions so obvious while grief breaks their heart. So real. You know, doctor, he reminds me of the Paladin. A soldier through and through just as we planned, yet the humanity flowers, the love shines through. It takes my breath away."

A cold, dry hand cupped his cheek. "John, I'll make you a deal. If you promise to stop fighting, I'll allow you to keep your memories."

Finally, something to work with. Shepard took an audible breath, relaxed his hands and opened his fingers enough that the old man could rest his hand in his. He knew he could overpower him, but with little else to go on he decided to go along. Go along, to get along, had been his mother's favorite expression.

"That's better." The old man drifted his thumb over Shepard's lower lip. Over his shoulder, he nodded the others toward the doorway. "Leave us."

"Father?" The sound of a shocked voice echoed across the cavernous room.

"Now," said the voice accustomed to being obeyed without question.

The sound of feet and a door opening and closing. Good. Once they were alone, Father bent over Shepard to whisper something in his ear. The fetid breath poured over the Commander's cheek. "If I release the restraints and you promise to behave I'll walk you to your quarters. No one here will harm you, and I promise you're safe. And if you're very very good, I'll allow you to see Tali and Garrus. You know, I envy you their friendship. One tries to plan for every eventuality, but the human brain is just so...malleable. There we are. Now, if you'll sit up and take your time."

Shepard took his time sitting up, and while he waited for the sensation to return to his hands and feet, he studied the man they called, Father. He was old, obviously. He smelled like machine oil, sweat and spoiled meat in a sandwich hidden inside its tattered wrapping. The blue eyes that stared at him brimming with emotions Shepard didn't want to identify. A means to an end, Shepard reminded himself. But the old man filled him with revulsion so strong his stomach threatened to spill.

The blanket tumbled to the floor, and Shepard suppressed a gasp when a gnarled hand pressed against his abdomen. "Easy, John." A yellowed fingernail traced a path through the patch of dark curls at his groin.

When his dick twitched to life, Shepard snatched the old man's hand away. "Do you know who I am? What I'm capable of?"

The old man grinned up at him. It was a death's head grin with aged skin pasted on old bones. The crypt-cold chill of the old man's skin sinking into Shepard's hand and into his flesh. "Well, of course, I know. You are my creation, after all. I spent weeks designing your programming. The perfect warrior, hyper-masculine, confident but never arrogant, with just the right about of tragic backstory. They told me it couldn't be done."

A thin arm snaked around his hips. "Apologies about those silly colors. I told the others. I warned them, but they didn't listen. And that insipid little boy. A glitch we couldn't program out of the code. A tragedy. Still, you're home now, Shepard. Come along now."

He gritted his teeth and scanned the hallway. The door. They were headed toward the door. Shepard forced himself to ignore the old man and kept walking. A few more feet.

"This way, Commander Shepard. Clothes and food are waiting for you. Let's get out of this sterility. Too cold as I'm sure you'll agree and hardly conducive to affectionate reunions."

The doorway led to an empty hallway with identical doors marching into the horizon. Behind one of those doors were his wife, his daughter, and his friend. He would find them. He was Commander Shepard and what he set his mind too happened. Although he tried to count the number of doors he failed. Damnit. What was wrong with him? Finally, a door whooshed open to a room different from the place where he woke up. This room was spacious, with a row of beds tucked inside alcoves for privacy. There were live plants and colors and chairs. Somewhere music was playing. He didn't recognize it, but he thought it had a medieval sound to it. His sharp eyes counted three men. Two of them were arguing.

"I suggest you turn that music off before I turn it off for you."

"Come now, my good man. Fair is fair, yes? We listened to your ridiculous Blue Grass all morning." Shepard's eyes widened at the sight of the man give his mustache a twirl. "Although, I am a poor wayfaring stranger fits our little group, don't you agree?"

Handsome popped into Shepard's head. Masculine and magazine-cover handsome. The dark-haired man with the elegant mustache was dressed in a set of oddly revealing leathers. The other, a tall, virile man with a full head of hair was dressed in a tattered and faded flight suit. What an odd thing to wear, Shepard thought while sweeping the room with his eyes; his face betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. Reclining on one of the beds was another man with his face hidden behind a comic book. Suddenly the door closed behind him. Shepard whirled, hands searching for the handle, the sensor, anything.

"You're wasting your time, civilian."

Shepard bristled at the title. "I'm a full commander in the Alliance Navy."

The man in the flight suit pulled himself to attention and nodded his way. "Pardon me, Commander. Difficult to ascertain rank under the circumstances."

That comment set the other man laughing into his hand. "Not so difficult, Paladin. Our new arrival _obviously_ outranks you."

"You bore me, civilian. Your endless chatter and sophomoric sexual inuendos serve no purpose here."

The dark man in leather ignored the Paladin and approached Shepard with a friendly grin. "Excuse us, Commander. We forget our manners. I am Dorian Pavus, lately of Minrathous. This is Paladin Danse, who claims affiliation with something he calls The Brotherhood of Steel. The gentleman on the bed is Robert Joseph MacCready. Welcome."

"What do I have to do to get out of here?" Shepard demanded deliberately lacing his words with the sharp tones of authority.

The man behind the comic book dropped the magazine and sat up staring at Shepard with owlish eyes.

"My dear man, I'm afraid there is no getting out of here."

"Shepard shook his head. "No, there's always a way. I don't belong here."

"Not that I'd put pressure on you to dress, but our dear Paladin is a bit of a prude."

Shepard shrugged and found his Alliance uniform on another bed. The uniform felt good against his skin...familiar. Gave him a little more confidence then he felt. When he turned around the three men were standing behind him.

"I expect you have questions, Commander?"

"Have the three of you tried escaping?"

"Oh, yes. We have tried. Haven't we Paladin?"

The Paladin shook his head and gave Shepard a contrite look as if he were about to apologize for failing. "We tried military tactics, Dorian used his magical abilities, which unfortunately do not work here. He claims they worked elsewhere..."

When the Paladin trailed off, MacCready continued. "The doors only lead to identical hallways which only lead back to this room. Next door is a dining room where they serve us food. There are an exercise room and a library. Everything you could ask for really, except..."

"Except what?" Shepard pressed.

MacCready's eyes glittered as he spoke. "Except for the ones we left behind — the ones we loved. I have a son named Duncan. Paladin Danse, the military and the love of a woman named Nora. Dorian is a mage and comes from a land where his family wielded political power, and he helped someone he knows as the Inquisitor save the world. If Father sends us back, we have no memory of it, only the memories of what we left behind, the regrets and what ifs."

Shepard fell back on his bed and dropped his head into his hands.


End file.
